The Blue Hour
by Zeff N Company
Summary: If there were colors to describe them, Firion was a brilliant shining flash of white while Squall was an ominous shadow of solid black. They were as different as the day and the night, but they couldn't avoid each other forever.


_... uh, really? I thought with the whole Squall/Leon thing going on in the Kingdom Hearts series that there would be more Firion + Squall stories in FFNet._

_Either way, this has been long overdue since I first promised Thien I'd try something for Dissidia. Despite how long it took, it was interesting to try this category; I might do so again._

_Thanks for stopping by.  
_

* * *

They were not friends. Comrades, maybe, but that was more due to them fighting on the same side than any form of actual friendship. They were – so very briefly – acquainted in the beginning, only seeing each other in fleeting seconds during the full-scale battle they had fought as a single unit against Chaos' forces. Once, before the fighting started, then again during the fight itself. After that, they separated.

They had no real reason afterward to seek each other out: one stuck with the largest group to assemble, one went off on his own. Of course, the groups broke and reformed over and over again, but neither really saw a point in teaming together for anything of a more minor scale. No one questioned it – perhaps it was safe to assume that no one expected anything otherwise from these two.

Of every group that was formed amongst them, of every partnership between any of these comrades, no two warriors of Cosmos seemed less compatible than Firion and Squall.

Firion was a member of the Wild Rose Rebellion, and everything those rebels stood for were what he stood for. He believed in justice and righteousness, and fought for those values simply because he believed in them. Despite his strength and maturity, there was perhaps something innocent about him. He dreamed to end the war, to create a peaceful world free from tyranny and oppression – a world where wild roses could bloom in vast fields. His steadfast hold on that innocent dream endeared others to him, willing them to cherish and even make that dream their own.

Squall was a mercenary from Balamb Garden, and the sides he stood on were not his to pick. Sure, he believed in justice and honor – enough to have been chosen by Cosmos – but most of the battles he fought in his career were for someone else's beliefs, no matter if they contradicted his own. Any innocence he had, he had lost long ago with the loss of his only family, his memories of her, and his recruitment as a child soldier. If he had ever heard of Firion's dream, he would have scoffed and dismissed it on the spot.

If there were colors to describe them, Firion was a brilliant shining flash of white while Squall was an ominous shadow of solid black. They were as different as the day and the night, and thus they naturally avoided one another if they could afford to.

Cosmos' death changed all that, forcing them to come back together again as they once had, to this point where they were resigned to keep one another company in misery. With only their crystals to sustain them, they spent their hours saving their energy before they would face their individual enemies one final time. In such a situation, the two sat side by side, their usual choices of companions gone at the moment.

For a brief moment, Squall had shed his jacket, and without it and its ruff at his back, his silhouette seemed different. For a moment, he looked younger, more vulnerable, and the sight of him made Firion feel a strange sense of nostalgia for his own world and past.

"You're staring," the brunet warrior commented suddenly, though he did not turn around. Firion blinked, and those memories were quick to dismiss themselves. With an apologetic noise, he explained himself:

"You remind me of someone."

Squall huffed, but probed further: "Enemy or ally?"

"… I guess he was both," Firion answered at last. "But that never did matter to me. He was… is… the closest I'll ever have to a brother. Growing up, I always saw him as someone strong, someone destined to lead and fight the good fight."

That had been before, so very long before – back when they were children, when there was nothing to fight over except who could jump further or run faster, or who got the bigger share of dessert or who Mother liked best; trivial matters that siblings bothered about. In a time when he was not a rebel and his brother was not a Dark Knight…

"And I remind you of him." Squall's tone implied a hidden question, and he was silent again as he waited for the answer.

"You two have a lot in common," the weapon specialist admitted, his tone slightly bitter. "You have friends who concern themselves about you, but you choose to stay alone, apart from them. It's not because you don't like them either – you do like them, and you do want to be with them. You care about them, so much that it hurts, but you're also too proud to admit it, too stubborn to give up that pride."

For a brief moment, Squall was looking at him – not just in his general direction, but _at _him. There was a strange light of emotion in his eyes, and he could not fully grasp what exactly it was. Those eyes of pale gray-blue were searching him for some sort of answer, but the moment ended too quickly, and the light faded. That moment the brunet had been caught off guard was gone, and he turned away again with a snort.

"I'm more complex than you think."

Firion chuckled, the mood lifting by a fraction before it sobered once more. He was not done with what he had to say… "You're better than him, though."

There was no second interruption, a silent grant of permission for him to continue. He accepted it.

"Sometimes, I think… if only things were different… I'm not sure how, exactly – maybe if he fought by our side as a rebel, or never sided with the Emperor at all – but whatever it is, he had that one thing that was different from you: you have a willingness to see what you can and cannot do, and when the situation calls for it, you do your best not for yourself, but for those you care about…"

And the weapon specialist nearly choked on his next word, pausing to regain his composure as he momentarily impressed the image of his adult brother's own broad shoulders on Squall's more slender adolescent figure. He swallowed before he attempted to finish his statement.

"Sometimes…" he continued at last. "… Sometimes, I can't help but wonder if only things were different… if only my brother could become someone like you. And when I think about it, it hurts to keep watching your back."

There was more silence between them, and Squall gave no real indication that he had been listening. Yet, as Firion finished, he lifted his head and stared out into the vast open space that stretched as far as the eye could see. His question was soft, barely audible, and carrying the weight of that earlier emotion he could not place.

"… What's his name?"

He had hesitated, not fully processing the question at first, but as those stormy eyes continued watching him, waiting for his response, he found himself answering easily:

"Leon."

Squall nodded, accepting it with a murmured repetition in a low rumble. Then, he was asking another question: "Have you given up on him?"

This time, Firion answered sooner, his resolve back: "No. I never will."

A second nod, this time in approval, and the corners of Squall's lips lifted in a small, sincere smile. "Mine didn't give up on me, either."

"… Yours?" the rebel asked carefully.

"My family," the mercenary elaborated. Then, as though some spell had broken, he slipped back into his former taciturn façade. He was looking far into the distance, and Firion followed his gaze to spot the approaching figures that were their fellow comrades. Whatever had just transpired between them seemed something out of imagination, as they both once again returned to being as different as the night and the day, unable to truly see eye to eye with so many differences between them.

"I can't look at you either."

He had nearly missed it, and Firion caught himself before he could turn and stare openly a second time at the warrior by his side. Squall's blank expression did not waver, but sure enough he was still speaking, still divulging a secret in this rare, precious moment.

"He had your passion, your determination to see all things through if only to pursue his dream," the brunet explained. "If only he had been born in your world instead of mine, fighting for your cause, Seifer could have truly become a splendid knight."

Firion did not have to ask who this 'Seifer' was. Even if he did, he did not get the chance to. Already, Squall left his side as he attempted to subtly escape his near-permanent pair of shadows, Bartz and Zidane, both still chattering a mile a minute. He in turn found himself back in the company of Cecil and Tidus. Then they were all on the move once more, ready to confront Chaos' forces one last time.

They never looked at each other again.


End file.
